deityofcaffeine-writerstears
Mostly 3am shitposts, my lover (coffee), random rants and my own wrtiter's tears
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Latest Posts by deityofcaffeine-writerstears
Start of Chapter 8, “Sins of the flesh”
Link to Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1359337904-sins-of-the-flesh-chapter-8-raised-once-more Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38974686/chapters/121978735 ----
Tension hung heavy in the air as Dean and Sam ate their breakfast of homemade pancakes and breakfast sausage; vegan breakfast sausage, in Sam’s case. Although Castiel found no reason to eat anymore as he didn’t have to pretend to be able to taste it, he still insisted on sitting with them.
Dean chewed slowly and methodically, eliciting high levels of nervosity in both the angel and his brother who sat nearby. Their forks and knives clinked against their plates, the light tapping and scratching sounding all too loud in a space that had once been constantly filled with noise when the three of them were together.
“So, erm… I’ve found a case for you two,” Sammy told them cautiously as he pulled a file off his lap and sat it down on the breakfast table, breaking the extremely awkward silence.
“For ‘us two’? What, you’re not coming on the first hunt we’ve had since Cas got back?” Dean asked, lowering his fork and knife to rest on his plate. “No, I need a break the hunts,” Sam told his brother truthfully as he took a breath followed by a bite of his pancakes.
“Have there been any reports on this case?” Castiel questioned as he put down the day’s newspaper dated December 17th, 2008. He took the file and opened it, watching uninterestedly as a map and a few pages slipped out of it.
“Yeah; a handful of people have gone missing in Virginia, in the Shenandoah national park,” Sam told them, watching as Castiel placed five pages in a line, each a different missing person’s report.
“Isabella Morake, Catherine Hilltower, Elizabeth Chinadora, Maxwell Carlem and Stephen Mystarn had all gone missing within two months of each other around the same area; each had been travelling in a group of two to three people when their teammates called the police to report that they had heard screams from the woods. There was blood splattered on the ground and on trees near where they had heard the yelling coming from,” Sam explained moving his hands in explicative motions as he spoke.
“Each scene had claw marks in the dirt, leading any police on the investigations to assume that they were bear attacks and the victims must have upset the bear or bears in some way.” The younger Winchester finished, waiting for Castiel to stop reading the file and reports.
“Five bear attacks in the same area at the beginning of winter? That’s ridiculous,” Dean muttered as he picked his fork and knife back up and stuffed a sausage in his face, chewing slowly to avoid having to speak again.
“Exactly why I think it’s something else; a wendigo, maybe? It matches up; seasons might be a little weird, but it’s possible it’s just stocking up on a bit more food before winter comes,” Sam suggested as he gently pushed his plate away, no longer feeling hungry enough to continue eating.
Start of Chapter seven, “Sins of the flesh”
Link to Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1298315374-sins-of-the-flesh-chapter-7-cherry-pie
Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38974686/chapters/110146278
----
Dean stood at the top of the church on October 26th, 2008, getting prepared for the day’s sermon as usual; he had been on edge for days, trying everything in his might not to call Castiel to make sure that he was okay.
Castiel was an angel, after all; a tricking, pie-stealing, trust-breaking, barbarous hedge-born joitheaded liar of an angel, that is, and Dean was sure he would be just fine without him or Sam nearby to help him. Flipping through his bible to some of the tabs he had out in his bible to be able to find what he wanted to say, Dean heard the front door of the church push open.
Listening closely, the eldest Winchester quickly realized that it was just his brother who had decided to show up a tad early for the sermon. Dean listened as his brother’s footsteps came closer and closer to him, stopping right beside him just as he found the page in his bible that he was searching for.
“What’s up, Sammy?” The priest asked, tilting his head slightly in his brother’s direction. “Cas asked if he could come to see your sermon, since he’s, uh, picking up his books later on,” Sam informed him, though it seemed by Sam’s hesitant that he already knew what the answer to that question was going to be.
“Tell Mr.Novak that there are other churches across town that he may enjoy more,” Dean hummed with a sarcastic smile, still feeling rather upset by the whole ordeal. “Dean, you can’t keep running from-” “Castiel can fuck off, okay, Sam?” Dean snapped, frowning as he pretended to flip pages in his bible again. “Now if you would excuse me, I have things to do, Sammy,”
Dean felt a little bad as Sam sighed and turned away, disappointment radiating over him as he dragged his feet and retreated back to the house. The man could hear the back door slam as he turned another page of his bible, and he tried to remind himself that Sammy was upset with him too and needed a way to express that without too many repercussions. Despite the guilt hanging over him, Dean quickly got the rest of his planning done and stood beside the door to begin greeting guests as they flooded in.
Most were old voices, people who has helped raise Dean and Sam and aid their father in learning how to raise two children on his own, people who had brought the young boys meals when they realized their father left them home alone, just in case they hadn’t eaten in a few days.
Despite this, there were one or two new voices who dropped by to check things out, one has just moved to the area and the other just trying to figure out their religion or what they did and did not believe in. In both cases, Dean welcomed them with open arms and greeted the rest of the usuals before making his way back up to the front to begin the sermon...
Just an amazing comic my an amazing artist
i can’t stop thinking about @ehlihr‘s teacher!jon au i couldnt NOT draw something for it
Start of Chapter six, Sins of the Flesh
Start of chapter four, Sins of the flesh.
Link to Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1281199235-sins-of-the-flesh-chapter-6-castiel-angel-of-the Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38974686/chapters/107196657
---- A few calm weeks went by as the temperatures dropped, whatever green was left on the trees shifting to bright fiery colours as they approached the end of October. Winds began to pick up and frost collected on the grass in the early mornings, days shortening as the sun began to lower in the sky earlier and earlier in the evenings. On October 23rd, Dean found himself hunched over a bible, trying to memorize a script for the Sunday sermon, one which his father had always taken very seriously because of the approach of Halloween. John had always been unnecessarily strict about the fact that Halloween was the devil’s work, that ghouls and demons would be invited into your home if you celebrated it. He wasn’t completely incorrect as both a priest and a hunter; many idiots tended to summon things nearing Halloween as a sort of daring and spooky activity, although the celebration itself had no attachment to any sort of gateways, as his father so-called them. Nonetheless, the priest still found himself in the dark of his kitchen, fingers gliding over the same imprints in the paper over and over in a desperate attempt to memorize them all by the 26th. He had, of course, memorized hundreds of passages in the past few years he had been carrying on the family business, but Dean preferred to preach new lectures and teach new things each year instead of simply repeating what he had already said; although there had been a few times he found himself repeating himself when he wasn’t able to think of anything new for that week. Dean barely noticed the passing of time as he worked for hours on his memorization, his mind began to wander as he remembered the happenings only just under four weeks prior; he had heard from Sam that the matricide had continued, and in some sick way, Dean felt guilty for leaving so many people to die. Plagued with guilt and the need to make his father proud, Dean carried on with his memorization and only stopped when Castiel entered the room and lay a gentle hand on his left shoulder. The priest flinched, startled out of his concentration at the sudden touch; he hadn’t even heard Castiel’s footsteps. “Jesus, Cas! Warn a guy before you touch him,” Dean grumbled as he fixed his terrible posture, raising his arms above his head as he stretched. “I apologize, Dean, usually I don’t have to,” Castiel apologized softly as he placed a mug on the table in front of Dean, the thick glass clunking against the table as it was set down. Dean picked up the mug and took a careful sniff of it before taking a sip, his brow creasing in confusion as he recognized the bitter taste of coffee on his tongue. “Why are you giving me coffee so late?” The priest questioned as he set the mug back down, careful not to spill any on his bible. “Late? No, Dean, it’s early. It’s five am,” Castiel informed as he sat down beside his friend at the table and sipped at his own coffee, made with cream and sugar.
Start of chapter five, Sins of the flesh
Link to Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1274665060-sins-of-the-flesh-chapter-5-50s-throwback
Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38974686/chapters/105834339
----
“Good morning, father Winchester, how was your hiatus?” A young mother asked as Dean welcomed her into the church, her little daughter perched carefully on her hip.
“My hiatus?” Dean questioned, though tried to make it too obvious that he hadn’t any idea what she was talking about.
“Why, yes; your four-month hiatus, to strengthen your relationship with god. How was it?” She questioned once more, a hint of impatience creeping into her voice. “Oh; yes, it was wonderful, thank you,” Dean hummed, doing his absolute best to smile as he continued to greet the guests into the church.
Dean eventually carried on the service, as usual, standing in front of everyone; however, about three minutes into the service he began to struggle slightly. The braille pages beneath his fingers felt foreign after all this time, the words seemed almost caught in his throat but Dean had to push through it, the quiet shuffles and coughs of people in the building overwhelming him slightly.
Near the end of service, the man almost had to have Sam take over, but he was too stubborn to allow it and ushed on; it was a relief when it was finally over, Dean’s energy mostly depleted by the time lunch was served.
“So get this,” Sam announced as he sat down at the table for lunch after Sunday service, the newspaper resting in his lap as he ate. “Apparently, there’s a town in the next state that’s had an unusually high amount of mariticide; nearly a dozen wives in the past two months murdering their husbands, all from the same town,” Sam told them, though Dean was slightly distracted by the sheer amount of noise that the many guests were making.
The many chattering guests mixed with the sounds of his two associates chewing their food, along with whatever other bothers were coming from the forest, the eldest Winchester couldn’t help but be reminded of his time in hell. “That is very odd… do you think it may be worth travelling for?” Castiel asked as he took a bite of his burger, a bit of ketchup falling onto his plate.
Dean shrugged, stuffing a bite of food into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in days. “I think it’d be worth looking around, I'm in need of a good fight,” The priest joked, straightening his posture and whipping his face with a napkin as he heard someone approaching. The person veered away, though, walking off towards some other table away from the priest, his brother and best friend.
“Alright, we’ll leave right after lunch clean-up, then,” Sam settled as the three finished their meals. Dean continued to struggle throughout the cleaning process, his ears beginning to ring and his blood pumping in his ears as he fought off what could only be called a panic attack, caused by overstimulation.
Y’know it's kinda screwed up that I had to rely on books to give me comfort growing up and that translated in perfectionism and writing obsessively because I'll now never be satisfied with my reality because I'm always chasing the feelings I've gotten from certain kinds of media despite knowing that I'll never feel that way again. BUT ANYWAY, C’EST LA VIE, GO BE HUMANS, GO HAVE FUN :)
AIDONEUS, OPHELIA AND LIV- MY BELOVEDS!! Truly incredible art and characters that are dear to my heart.
HERES SOME FILLER ART
Enjoy my non Fallout related ocs from a book I’m writing with my friend @deityofcaffeine-writerstears
Everyone must see the cozy cat boy Virgil.
Catboy!Virgil surrounded by every pillow/plushie etc. in existence. Just a cozy boy in bed.
He's so cozy.
If you like, please reblog. <3
autistic people are allowed to fit autism stereotypes
i take things literally. i don’t get a lot of neurotypical humor and often feel left out of the joke or even feel like i’m the joke sometimes. i’m gullible. there’s no way to sugarcoat it or put it more nicely, i’m just gullible. i don’t always know what’s satire. i’m socially awkward and have a hard time befriending or remaining friends with anybody who isn’t like me.
much of the autism community puts so much emphasis on “all autistic people aren’t x” and not enough on “who cares if we’re x, we deserve rights”
this goes doubly for ID and nonspeaking autistics btw i just can’t speak to that experience personally
I have a mixed relationship with studying.
On one end, I absolutely adore it; the classical or gentle music I listen to as my pen glides against the page, the controlled chaos that litters my desk and the dim lighting of my lamp.
On the other hand, however, I hate it; the seemingly endless hours I spend studying and yet never learning, the few bits of knowledge I do retain about these subjects I despise barely enough to get me passed with a decent enough grade.
If only I could learn to love the ache in my hands after writing for hours again, the challenge of understanding new knowledge made fun again.
Yes another playlist I made. Not my art on the cover.
Another playlist I made :) Photography on the cover does not belong to me.
ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ
ᴅɪᴀʟᴏɢᴜᴇ ➼
"pull me closer..."
"coffee or tea?"
"get the blankets."
"I'm turning up the heat!"
"it's fine. you're here now."
"look at the moon..."
"my hands are cold." "is that a pickup line?"
"ugh, finally!"
"remember that time...?"
"do you want to sit?"
"have a coffee."
"let's share."
"oh, it's adorable!"
"shall I start the fire?"
"ugh, you make me dizzy."
"you're my happy place." "don't get cheesy on me."
"you smell nice."
"hold my hand. please."
"did you make that yourself?"
"that smells so. good."
"what film?"
"this is somewhere I feel safe."
"I'm going to fall asleep..."
"it's already twelve?"
"it's just how I remember..."
"look, look!"
ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ➼
draping a blanket over their sleeping body
knowing how / if they take their coffee
squeezing hands
splitting a cake in a small café
spinning around together until you get dizzy
crashing together on the couch after a long day
knowing each others' tells
watching the rainfall
jamming out to the radio at midnight
cooking for the sick friend even though they're bad at it
lighting candles
snuggling in a blanket in front of the tv
hiccuping tears into their shoulder
rocking back and forth in their arms
pulling out that favourite hoodie
/ the collection of stolen hoodies
staying up until midnight to talk
roasting burnt marshmallows
sneaking out to look at the stars
Atelophobia is a plague that attacks your mind and not only instils the fear of not being good enough in your mind, it is a package deal of insecurities and overworking. Atelophobia is working into the late hours of the night, writing and thinking for fear of failure; it is empty coffee cups and fighting insomnia to get just one last page of work done, or so you say. It’s feeling eyes watching you as you type until your fingers are sore, until you really can’t keep up your own eyelids, until your eyes are burning from the amount of hours you’ve forced them open.
It is worrying about the future, wondering if you really are taking on too much but forcing through it, all for the sake of not failing. But what is failing, if not the fear of never achieving perfection? Atelophobia at it’s core is the fear of losing a battle you had no chance of winning.
Yesss, finally the proper representation for Donnie!!
Watch "Donnie (Rise of the TMNT) | Autism Representation in Media" on YouTube
We're finally talking about autistic ninja turtles.
...I think this was on my bucket list ten years ago.
EPIC RAP BATTLES OF HISTORYYYYYYYYY
Here, have a Destiel playlist I made. Enjoy, mfs. THE ART IN THE COVER IS NOT MINE!!!! I FOUND IT ON PINTEREST, IF YOU KNOW THE ARTIST THAT’S GREAT CUZ I DON’T AND DO NOT INTEND TO STEAL THEIR ART. Thank ya.
Start of chapter four, Sins of the flesh.
Link to Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1263570085-sins-of-the-flesh-chapter-4-raised-from-perdition Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38974686/chapters/103642149#workskin -CAUTION: This one may include trigger warnings for those who are sensitive to descriptions of hell and very mild gore. You have been warned- ---- Hell was a horrible place; it was filled with the vilest of human beings, demons and creations you could ever imagine. People who had sold their souls were hung on hooks like meat hung in racks; in hell, a human and a cow were no different. The stink of sulphur, blood, smoke and flesh was constant, but if you were there you would find that the rotten scent was nothing compared to being whipped; to having your flesh torn and ripped repeatedly as blood and sweat rolled down your back. It was always ablaze, fiery hot and bright; never for a second was hell silent, but you would get used to the splitting headaches and the lack of sleep eventually.
Screams of pain and gurgles of pure agony surrounded Dean in hell; pain radiated throughout the man’s body and he didn’t have his blindfold over his eyes to allow him to feign ignorance to the many bloodied and beaten people surrounding him. The man didn’t remember how long he had been in hell, the pain too much for him to think about anything else; he hung on hooks, screamed and bled until he couldn’t take it anymore. He fought as hard as he could, avoided becoming a torturer at all costs and tried to remember what earth was like and who he was.
He was a priest, yet he was in hell; he struggled for forty long years until a saving grace came upon him. Hell lit up with a yellowish-white glow bright enough to blind you with a single glance, demons perished all around and Dean was raised from hell once again as a hand burned his left shoulder.
~♰~♰~♰~
Dean gasped as his eyes flew open, arms flailing and hands desperately grasping at something to hold on to; the first thing he registered was the feeling of cold stone beneath him, as well as beneath his palms when finally he had a grip on something.
Looking up, he saw towering ceilings and archways stretching high above his head; the many depictions of angels painted skywards were new to him, he had never even known that they were there. His left shoulder ached, and he came to realize his left hand lay on a very familiar statue; dozens of rosaries hung around her neck, swaying just slightly in a breeze that carried itself through the open door at the very back of the church. Dean sat up, breathing in the still-stale air; he could smell rain on the breeze and yet the church’s oxygen remained dusty and scented like history, it seemed no one had cleaned it properly in a while. The man only barely registered the pounding in his head as he looked around at the pews and the windows of his church, still a little disorientated by the sudden drag up from hell. Finally understanding that he was safe, Dean hauled himself up onto shaking legs and got a more thorough look at his surroundings...
Start of chapter three, Sins of the flesh.
Link to Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1249130358-sins-of-the-flesh-chapter-3-a-brother%27s-love Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38974686/chapters/101269308#workskin --- Dean struggled to keep his eyes open despite the coffee he was sipping on, his head leaning against the window of the impala; usually driving was one of his saving grace’s from the blindfold since the car had been a gift from his father to him, but today was an exception due to his tiredness. Dean listened to the hum of the engine and relaxed in the way the car drove over the road as Sam drove, the radio turned off to pull them both into a comfortable silence.
Neither had questioned the fact that Dean had been on the floor that morning when Sam went to check up on him since he wasn’t up yet; Dean hadn’t said a word as he was roused awake by his little brother, the memories of the night before vague within his mind.
As Baby drove steadily down the highway, her tires gripping the pavement and the leather seat pressed against Dean’s back, Dean found his thoughts drifting back to the mysterious Castiel. His dream from the previous night was still bothering him immensely; he knew his father was not always the most honest of men, and he had experienced nightmares that involved him before, but nothing like this.
Ever since he started praying to the angel, he would get flashes of gold and black in the middle of the dream and be woken up, but never had he had a conversation with them.
He didn’t want to dwell, but something was telling him to dig for more answers; perhaps he would call or visit Bobby soon to see if he knew anything. Dean took another sip of his coffee and grimaced only slightly when he realized that it had gone cold; he placed it down in the cup holder and took in a breath of air, thankful that they were almost to the other town.
There was a sudden crunch under the tire of the impala and Sammy was slamming on the brakes while Dean grasped both the dash and the door with both hands. As the car came to a halt, Dean turned his head towards his brother, jaw still set from the fear. “What the fuck was that?” Dean asked his brother as Sam sighed, falling silent for only a moment before he spoke.
“I don’t know, but I think our tire popped because of it,” Sam murmured and opened his door, leading Dean to join him and walk around the car. Dean leaned against the car as Sam knelt to the ground and examined their car, a heavy groan coming from him as he seemed to shuffle his feet against the gravel for a moment. “What is it, Sammy?” Dean asked as he tilted his head in his brother’s direction, and the way his brother sighed came off eerily loud as the road and surrounding area seemed to be silenced now that they had stopped driving. “It’s a crow; I didn’t even see it on the road, why would it have been there in the first place?” Sammy wondered aloud, and Dean could tell that his smart-ass brother was probably looking at it with fascination like he always did when it came to something strange.
Start of chapter two, Sins of the flesh.
Link to Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1233104183-sins-of-the-flesh-chapter-2-newcomer Link to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38974686/chapters/98769999#workskin --- Dean gasped awake, chest heaving as he drew in panicked breaths and gripped at the bedsheets, the adrenaline in his veins and anxiety slowly fading the longer he breathed in sweet, sweet oxygen.
The nightmares were horrible, always of the same grotesque beings, the demons, werewolves, wraiths and other monstrosities his father would fight off when he was a child.
The images and fights Dean himself had fought against them were always present in the back of his mind during his waking life, reminding him that he was living on borrowed time and that nothing was ever permanent; these thoughts only became more prominent when he was asleep as he did not have much control over what his own mind created. “Sonova bitch…” Dean muttered, letting out a relieved breath, relieved to have finally escaped the dream; he had been allowed to remove his blindfold when fighting these beings to ensure that he wouldn’t get too injured, but some days he wished he hadn’t seen anything.
Dean reached over to his bedside table for his braille watch, the cool metal and leather strap coming into contact with Dean’s hand as he did so. He had, of course, learnt to read braille at a young age simply to make his life easier due to the blindfold, and as a result, his father had bought him the watch on his thirteenth birthday, but Dean somewhat believed he only did that so he would stop asking what time it was every half hour.
To his dismay, it was only around three am, which aggravated Dean to no end; it was a Saturday, so he didn’t have to be up early and he had only gone to sleep three hours ago. Thoroughly disgruntled, Dean placed his watch back on his side table and yanked the sheets back up to his chin, rolling onto his side in an attempt to get comfortable. Despite his greatest efforts, the dream had shaken him too much for him to feel even a pang of sleepiness.
After nearly an hour of tossing and turning, Dean kicked his sheets off in frustration, slipped out of his bed and located his fluffy robe, tying the string around his abdomen as he walked. The house was mostly silent, nothing but the sound of the wind howling outside and the near-silent creaking of the old home; an eerie feeling hung in the air, the feeling of being careful watches unnerving Dean to the core, though he tried to ignore it as he made his way through the house.
The man allowed himself to simply wander through the house, not bothering much to do anything but trace his fingers over the walls and the picture frames hung up them; he had never seen what was in the picture frames, but he hoped one day he might. He remembered his father often having him and Sammy pose and stand for pictures, but Dean had never seen a single one of them; he wondered if somewhere in the house, there might be a photo of his mother... Continued on Wattpad and Ao3!
Story teller.
I have always loved stories, have always gotten a little thrill out of reading about Neverlands and far away wizarding schools, always searching for an escape. Now, I write, providing others with their own escapes. I write stories of fiendish pirates, poisoning tea with nightshade and sailing the seas to carry on a mother’s legacy. I write of plagues and pestilence, of crows invading the skies and turning them black. I write of an angel loving a human so much that they would fall from the heavens for him, just as Icarus did for the sun. Stories are meant to be shared, fantasies to get lost in... and yet, sometimes I wonder, how far into my fantasies is too far?
This is how my lover’s voice sounds... never has their voice been any less sweet than honey, or less gentle than the wind blowing through a field of lavender. I do not deserve him, and yet he is mine, and for that I am forever greatful.
Start of chapter one, “Sins of the flesh.”
My chapters for “Sins of the flesh“ can be extremely long, so I will not be posting full chapters here on Tumblr; I will, however, post the first page of each chapter once they are updated or if I have already had them posted for a while, it depends. I will put the link to the fic at the top, and you can go read it if you enjoy it! Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38974686/chapters/97482846#workskin Wattpad link: https://www.wattpad.com/1225227745-sins-of-the-flesh-chapter-1-in-the-beginning --Start of chapter one-- Dean huffed as he tilted his head to the side, trying to listen to where his four-year-old brother was scurrying off to hide, Sammy’s giggles fading away as he went. They were playing hide-and-seek, a game Dean had become quite skilled at despite his lack of vision. If he focussed on listening to where the sound of his little brother’s bare feet against the wooden floors was heading, he would find him quite easily as Sammy often giggled when he hid. A few times, John had gotten mad at him for losing Sammy after playing the game as Sam would occasionally fall asleep; Dean tried not to think about the bruises he would receive if he lost the game as he stood up after thirty seconds and began listening for his brother. He made his way through the living room slowly, letting his hands slowly glide over the walls and furniture as he walked to see if any of it was out of its usual place. He ensured that his footsteps were slow and deliberate, completely quiet; that’s another skill he had learned because of John, how to keep completely and utterly silent when you did not want to be found. Slowly he crept through the halls of this old house, a house he had not seen for more than a few minutes at a time in nearly four years; the only times the blindfold ever came off was when Dean was showering or in case of absolute emergencies, though he didn’t know why it was necessary.He heard a sudden creak from behind him, and Dean strained his ear towards the doorway he had just passed. He heard the fair sound of heavy breathing as he approached the room and assumed that it was just Sammy getting more and more anxious as Dean approached his hiding place.The boy shivered as a draft suddenly whispered over his skin, the room seemed colder than it should have been. He assumed that the window was open, and so moved to close it without much thought. He didn’t expect to be knocked to the floor and have claws dig into his arms. Dean let out a blood-curdling scream as he tried to get away, kicking and punching at the creatures that he could not see.Its claws were razor-sharp, its breath absolutely horrible as it snarled and tried to sink its teeth into this flesh, but thankfully Dean avoided that from happening with his adrenaline-induced strength. He fought and fought, tears streaming down his face and soaking through his blindfold as he begged whatever it was to let him go, to put him down and leave. “Dean!” Came his father’s voice as he heard his footsteps pounding down the hallway, the searing pain in Dean’s arms, and now chest as the creature’s claws left a bloody slash across his chest and dropped him. He heard two gunshots ring out, but not the sound of shattering glass; the window had been left open and something had gotten in....
You can love someone and still choose to say goodbye to them,
Tara Westover, Educated
All these decades of riots, the death of so many queer people for a future that was more accepting; yet here we are, still trying to have people realize that just because someone is different than them does not mean they are dirty. This is ridiculous and sad that people are so bored with their own lives they have to bother other people.
TERFs have begun using “hygienic” to mean cis because they’re fucking weirdos who think trans people don’t take baths
I’ve been collecting these screenshots for months to prove my point, this is an actual thing they’re doing and I feel that by now I have enough proof to be making this post. If you see someone calling themselves hygienic in their blog description, that’s what they mean. They mean they’re openly transphobic. And a fucking weirdo who assumes trans people don’t bathe for some reason.
No I’m not censoring the urls, all of these people can go fuck themselves! Block, don’t harass 💙🖤
“Sins of the flesh” Prologue!!
Hello everyone, I’ve been writing a new fic, so I figured I would post the prologue here in case anyone who views my blog would enjoy reading it! I hope you like the prologue, I’ll include the link to the fic here! Ao3 ink: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38974686/chapters/97482780 Wattpad link: https://www.wattpad.com/1222916487-sins-of-the-flesh-prologue --Prologue-- John Winchester was a righteous man; he was well-known throughout his community as an excellent priest and had seen most people every Sunday throughout their entire lives. He was known to be a very loving and selfless man, though many knew that dwindled slightly after the death of his wife. This is also the time he began hunting, leaving his young sons alone for days at a time and only returning for Sunday mass; no other adult knew of his hunting. No one knew what exactly had happened to the priest’s wife, the priest did not discuss it, but everyone knew that there must have been a truly horrifying sight involved; see, John kept his eldest son, Dean, blindfolded with a black satin cloth after the death of his mother. The boy never seemed overly bothered by it, although it was a little difficult to navigate through different places and do different tasks blindly at first. Since he was four, no one within the town had seen the boy without the blindfold on, and he was always wearing clothing that covered his entire body; his father did not take his sons out very often, and thus the only time the town people ever even saw them was at church. Most of the time, if you attempted to speak to Dean, he would not speak; his younger brother, Sam, however, would constantly go on delighting rants about whatever he was currently learning in school. What the people did not know is the purpose of the blindfold; unsurprisingly, neither did Dean, but he followed his father’s orders blindly as he was raised to. His father told him to put on the blindfold, he did. His father told him to stay quiet, he did. His father told him to hold out his arms so he could inflict bruises on them whenever he was out of order… he did. He saw his father as a hero, and it seemed no matter what the ma did to him, Dean always trusted his judgement. John knew the reason for the blindfold, though, and why only his oldest son needed it; it was to keep him holy, keep his soul pure, to stop him from falling into the sinful romance and lust with a man. You see after his wife had died, a being came to him and told him that the earth was a cruel and horrid place; it told him that if he was able to keep his oldest son pure, if he was able to keep him from falling in love with a man as he was fated to, then God would use him as vivisection for all his angels see so that they may aid him with creating more righteous beings for the earth. Delighted, John had not questioned the gold-eyed being, for he believed it was an angel, and thus did everything in his power to bend the fates of his son by engraving the belief that death would feel like waking up from a nightmare, that when he passed, Dean would be used as a model for all righteous beings to come if only he could keep away from lustful desires and the sin of a male lover. John Winchester was a fool; you cannot bend the fates, cannot change the course that life has given you to follow. The man who thinks himself God will undoubtedly be struck down, for he is an impersonator attempting to steal the power of another.
Evil can't be scientifically defined. It's an illusory moral concept that doesn't exist in nature. Its origins and connotations have been inextricably linked to religion and mythology.
Dr. Spencer Reid, Criminal Minds, Season 5: Our Darkest Hour